


To You, I Give Myself

by almostafantasia



Series: To You, I Give Myself [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Secret Santa AU, Sexual Humour, octavia has just a tiny obsession with dildos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clarke isn't even that surprised when she reads the name on the little slip of paper between her fingers, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't let out an audible groan upon reading Lexa's name.</p><p>Because what the hell is an appropriate Christmas present for a one night stand?"</p><p>Clarke pulls Lexa's name for corridor Secret Santa and has to figure out what to get for a girl that she knows nothing about except the taste of her lips and the sound she makes when she comes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To You, I Give Myself

**Author's Note:**

> This is far from my best work. I wrote this in just a few days after not writing anything since September. Treat this as a little piece written to try and get my creative side working again. Having said that, I hope you enjoy this festive little oneshot.

Clarke isn’t even that surprised when she reads the name on the little slip of paper between her fingers.

What are the chances? There are twenty four of them on her corridor, twenty three other names that Clarke could have picked, but of course fate has decided to raise a giant middle finger at her by giving the name of the only person on the corridor that she’s slept with.

 _Lexa_.

She reads it again, just to be sure, and then again, because she’s certain that it must be some kind of really cruel trick of her eyes. But the four letters remain exactly the same, glaring up at her in an obnoxious reminder of why Clarke shouldn’t be left unsupervised near a pretty girl after a few drinks.

Clarke isn’t surprised, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t let out an audible groan upon reading Lexa’s name.

Because what the hell is an appropriate Christmas present for a one night stand?

“Two night stand,” Octavia is quick to point out when Clarke voices her question aloud in their shared room later that night.

Clarke hesitates for just a moment, then mumbles, “Well, if you’re pernickety then it’s actually _three_ …”

“What?” Octavia gasps, then throws a pillow across the bedroom at Clarke, who deflects it onto the floor with a hand raised in front of her face. “Why didn’t I hear about this? When did it happen?”

Avoiding eye contact with her best friend, Clarke merely shrugs and replies, “After Monroe’s party last week. I was drunk, Lexa was available. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” scoffs Octavia. “Clarke, this is huge! Everybody knows that Lexa is a _fuck and chuck_ kind of girl. The fact that she even looked your way twice is surprising, let alone _three_ times.”

Nonchalantly flipping a page of her textbook and reaching out for the orange highlighter on her desk, Clarke says, “I must be a _really_ good lay.”

Despite the fact that she is pointedly avoiding looking directly at Octavia, Clarke can feel the smirk boring into the side of her head from the other side of the road.

“Bullshit,” grins Octavia. “Lexa _likes_ you.”

Unable to think of a witty response, Clarke shoots back, “Shut up and get on with your homework.”

They both know that Octavia has won that round.

 

* * *

When three times becomes four less than two days later, Clarke is almost inclined to believe Octavia’s childish teasing that Lexa may actually have a crush on Clarke. Because although the first three times were definitely slightly more of Clarke drunkenly coming onto Lexa than anything else, the fourth time happens whilst Clarke is painfully sober.

The same, however, cannot be said for Lexa.

_you doing much tonight? xx_

The text comes just after midnight on the night before one of Clarke’s big exams, her phone vibrating against a desk that is almost entirely hidden with textbooks and mind maps and messy stacks of highlighted lecture notes.

_Just revising. Big test tomorrow._

As soon as her message has sent, Clarke discards her phone back onto her desk, but Lexa’s reply is almost immediate, as if the other girl has been waiting for an answer.

_can i see you?_

Frowning, Clarke picks up her phone once more and taps out a quick response.

_Sorry, I really need to prepare for this exam._

_outside your door x_

The vibration of Clarke’s phone signalling the message’s arrival is immediately followed by the soft rapping of knuckles on the door of Clarke’s room, leaving no question as to who it is visiting her in the early hours of a Wednesday morning.

“Clarke? Clarke, are you in there?” Lexa’s soft voice calls through the door. Through her sigh of frustration, Clarke is at least relieved that Lexa’s arrival is quiet. The last thing she needs is for the entire corridor to be made aware of the surprising turn Clarke’s evening has taken.

Clarke jumps up from her chair and hops nimbly from one foot to the other as she dashes across the room, flipping the latch on the door and swinging it open to find Lexa standing outside, a leather jacket draped over one arm and a pair of heeled shoes hanging from the fingers of the other hand.

“Can I come in?”

Lexa doesn’t give Clarke a chance to properly register the question, let alone formulate an answer to it, before she has already pushed her way into the room. Clarke watches with her mouth slightly agape as Lexa drops her shoes and jacket to the floor before falling unceremoniously on her back on top of Clarke’s patterned duvet as if she owns the place.

“Lexa? What are you doing here?”

Lexa props herself up onto her elbows and looks at Clarke with slightly hazy green eyes. Her cheeks are a little flushed, presumably from whatever she’s been drinking, and her hair is marginally more unruly than normal, or perhaps Lexa always looks like this and Clarke has never noticed because the only time she ever pays the brunette any real attention is when the two of them are intent on tearing at each other’s clothes, but she’s suddenly struck by just how _pretty_ Lexa is. And Clarke is no stranger to pretty girls (hell, she’s been sharing a room with Octavia Blake, of all people, for the last two and a half months), but Lexa’s beauty is different in its effortlessness and how strikingly obvious it is that Lexa doesn’t realise how pretty she is.

“I wanted to see you,” Lexa replies honestly, her words bringing Clarke back out of her reverie.

In order to avoid Lexa noticing the blush that threatens to creep up her neck and onto her cheeks, Clarke returns her attention to the notes spread across the desk, picking up a pen and using the tip of it to follow a line of writing, though her brain, distracted by the close proximity of a pretty girl, registers none of it.

“Why me?” Clarke asks, keeping her eyes fixated on the page in front of her.

“Do I really need to answer that?”

Clarke can almost hear the smirk in Lexa’s voice, though she still manages to channel all of her self-restraint into the mammoth task of not looking up from her work. She can feel the gaze from Lexa’s eyes boring into the side of her head, so intense that she worries for a second whether it will set her hair alight.

After a few moments of silence on Clarke’s part, Lexa finally says, “I was kind of hoping that you’d want to … you know?”

Clarke thinks that she does know, and it’s these words that finally do it. Clarke’s eyes snap up from the notes that never really had any of her attention at all since Lexa’s arrival, meeting the intense green stare once again.

The way that Lexa has draped herself across the bed, as if it is as much her own bed as it is Clarke’s, should be illegal, Clarke quickly decides. Nobody could be expected to stay in their right mind with _that_ view just across the room. She starts reciting facts for her exam tomorrow, anything to distract her enough to stop her from pouncing across the room and covering Lexa’s body with her own.

Lexa, naturally, does absolutely nothing to help curb Clarke’s increasing arousal, in fact quite the opposite. She shuffles over slightly on the bed to make more room, then taps the empty space next to her, arching a single eyebrow in Clarke’s direction. It’s odd, because ever since the message asking what she was up to tonight lit up the screen of her cell phone Clarke has known that Lexa wants to have sex again, but there’s just something about seeing Lexa confirm it with a questioning gaze and a gentle pat on the mattress beside her that starts to completely destroy Clarke’s resolve to say no.

“I have to revise,” Clarke says feebly, her eyes flickering down to Lexa’s hand, then back up to her face. “This test is important.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

There’s something about the way that Lexa says this that tells Clarke that she already knows the answer, that asking for Clarke’s consent to stay is more for show that anything else. Just like Clarke’s immediate glance at her notes, which is nothing more than an attempt to absolve herself of future guilt and definitely not a genuine contemplation of the decision between Lexa and studying.

“No,” Clarke answers softly.

Before Clarke can truly register what is happening, she drops her pen to the desk with a clatter and pretty much flies across the room to the bed. She climbs onto the bed and Lexa’s hands, just as eager as Clarke’s own, search out Clarke’s hips and pull her down so that she falls atop the other girl with a little thump.

“Sorry,” Clarke says breathlessly, but her soft peal of laughter is cut off with Lexa’s mouth surging up to meet her own.

The kiss is hot and urgent, and Clarke tries for just a second to control the hands that itch to wander up and down Lexa’s body, before realising that she doesn’t really want to stop them and gives into their urges. Lexa kisses her until they are both breathless, and Clarke kisses her back with just as much enthusiasm and more, the feeling of Lexa’s body beneath hers being just what Clarke needs after hours of mind-numbing revision in the most blissfully surprising of ways.

“Seems like ages since we did this,” Lexa pulls back from kissing Clarke, reaching up a hand to brush loose strands of blonde hair behind Clarke’s ear.

“Eight days.”

“You’ve been counting?” Lexa’s eyes light up in amusement, then immediately darken again with an arousing intensity.

“Maybe,” admits Clarke.

“Shhh,” Lexa coos, lifting her head from the pillow to capture Clarke’s lips once more. Light fingertips dance across Clarke’s sides, smoothing out the soft fabric of her t-shirt until they rest on her hips, tugging slightly until Clarke is fully straddling Lexa’s thighs.

“Octavia,” Clarke mumbles between kisses. “She could be back any second.”

“I saw her at the party, she left with Lincoln,” Lexa dismisses. “She won’t be back tonight.”

Lexa flips them over with no warning at all, smirking down at Clarke as she expertly flicks her hair over her shoulder with far more elegance than somebody who has been drinking should be able to. Clarke feels like a misshapen potato in comparison, her helpless position flat on her back probably doing wonders for her second chin, and wearing yesterday’s t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that almost certainly have pasta sauce on them.

Lexa, thankfully, seems not to care. Or perhaps too drunk to fully realise how completely out of Clarke’s league she is.

Lexa’s next kiss takes Clarke aback slightly; she isn’t prepared for either the bruising intensity of it or the way that Lexa’s tongue seeks urgent entrance to her mouth. Clarke can’t help but let out a little moan as she opens her mouth, and the noise seems to simply spur Lexa on further, her hands gripping Clarke’s hips so tightly that Clarke wonders if they will leave a mark. (She almost hopes that they will.)

Clarke is usually one to enjoy taking control but tonight she is more than content to lay back and let Lexa take charge. Tonight is Lexa’s night, and Clarke thinks that she at least owes Lexa the right to make this about what she wants. That, and Clarke’s brain is so frazzled from days upon days of revision that she wouldn’t really be coherent enough to take the lead even without taking into account the pretty girl sitting astride her lap.

As Lexa’s kisses move from Clarke’s lips, across her cheek and along her jawline, Clarke opens her eyes and tries to focus on the steady in and out of air to her lungs.

“I have an exam tomorrow,” Clark says aloud, both as a reminder to herself and to give something for her to clong onto reality with, as Lexa’s teeth work their way methodically down Clarke’s neck to the clavicle exposed above the loose neckline of her top.

Lifting her head, Lexa asks, “Do you want to stop?”

“No, just … I have to be up early.”

“Well I’d better get you off quickly then so that you have time to return the favour,” Lexa grins suggestively.

And then she is moving down Clarke’s body so fast that Clarke barely has time to register the fingers dipping below the elastic of her sweatpants and pulling the soft fabric down her legs, hot kisses trailing a path close behind.

All thought of the exam lay forgotten at the back of Clarke’s mind as her entire world gets consumed by nothing but _Lexa_.

 

* * *

Clarke wakes, despite being too distracted to set an alarm the night before, before the sun rises. A hot body presses into her side and one of Lexa’s arms is lazily draped across Clarke’s stomach. Memories flood back, much clearer than Clarke is used to when she wakes up with company in bed, and combined with the dull ache in her forearms and the feeling of satiation between her legs, Clarke can almost feel Lexa’s kisses from last night moving in carefully planned paths across her naked skin.

She stirs slightly, moving as slowly as possible so as not to disturb Lexa, extracting a dead arm from beneath the rest of her body and wincing as the blood begins to rush back along the limb to the tips of her fingers in the most painful of ways.

“Morning,” a sleepy voice mumbles against Clarke’s shoulder.

With the knowledge that Lexa is now awake, Clarke moves properly onto her back, stretching out her legs and tilting her head down to look at the mess of unruly brown curls on the pillow beside her.

“Did I wake you?” Clarke asks.

“Not really.”

Lexa’s voice is barely more than a croak and Clarke is reminded that Lexa is the only one of the two of them who can blame last night’s escapades on alcohol.

“How are you feeling?” she asks cautiously.

“Not too bad,” replies Lexa, blinking blearily across at Clarke. “I was pretty sober by the time we actually went to sleep.”

Clarke feels a certain sense of relief wash over her, but with it comes something else unidentifiable with the knowledge that this is the only time they’ve slept together when either of them has been even vaguely sober, and the first night that one of them has stayed the night. It’s a nice feeling though, Clarke decides. The same kind of warm _maybe I’m falling for you_ rush that she hasn’t felt since Finn in high school.

Lexa manages to kill that feeling immediately with just three short words.

“I should go,” she says, swinging her legs out of the side of the tiny twin bed, the sheets falling down to reveal the bare expanse of her naked back. Clarke has to look away quickly, a hot blush burning her cheeks, so as to stop herself from reaching out for Lexa to pass the three hours until her exam.

Instead, Clarke just nods and mutters a disappointed, “Okay.”

Lexa picks her discarded underwear up off the floor and slides them up her legs, then stands up and begins the search for the rest of the clothes, keeping her back to Clarke.

Unfamiliar with how pillow talk is supposed to go and without properly thinking, Clarke blurts out, “What do you want for Christmas?”

Midway through putting her bra back on, Lexa glances over her bare shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Clarke.

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“I picked your name in Secret Santa,” confesses Clarke. When Lexa’s eyes widen in surprise, though she says nothing, Clarke continues, “I don’t know what to get you.”

Bending down to pick up her jeans, inside out from their frantic undressing the night before, Lexa simply shrugs, “You’ll think of something.

Clarke flops back against the pillows and thinks to herself, _I don’t think I will._  

 

* * *

“Sup, bitch?”

The words, admittedly softly spoken, accompanied by a gently placed hand on Clarke’s shoulder, startle Clarke out of her revision-induced stupor. Glancing up at her best friend, Clarke tugs at the wires of her earphones until they drop out, and whines, “ _Octavia_.”

“Do you want to go for lunch?”

Ignoring the glare from the only other person working at her table in the library, Clarke nods and begins to gather her things together as quickly and quietly as possible, pushing heavy textbooks into her backpack and unplugging her laptop from the socket.

“How’s revision going?” Octavia asks once they make it to one of the library staircases, free from passive aggressive glares at even the tiniest amount of noise.

“Not too well,” admits Clarke. “I got bored and spent half the time trying to figure out what to get Lexa. I even googled _what to get your fuck buddy for Christmas_ but nothing useful came up.”

“Wow, you’re screwed,” declares Octavia, as if there had been any doubt about that in Clarke’s mind.

“Tell me about it,” mumbles Clarke in agreement.

They reach the small café on the ground floor of the main campus library and take up one of the small tables near the door, each pulling out a Tupperware container of pre-made sandwiches (Clarke’s handiwork) and setting them down on the table.

“Whose name did you pick anyway?”

Raising a sceptical eyebrow at Clarke, Octavia is quick to reply, “It’s called _Secret_ Santa, Clarke.” After a few seconds and a borderline murderous glare from Clarke, Octavia continues, “Fine, I got that Myles guy. You know, the one who lives opposite Jasper and Monty.”

“What are you getting him?”

“I ordered one of those inflatable sex dolls online,” Octavia grins mischievously. “I don’t know the guy at all but he’s going to _love_ me for it.”

Wincing slightly at Octavia unabashedly filthy sense of humour, Clarke says drily, “Remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Because you love me and would be lost without me,” Octavia answers promptly. “Speaking of which, I’ve come up with some ideas for Lexa’s present.”

Completely forgetting that this is Octavia she’s talking to, and that nothing Octavia considers a good idea will be a suggestion worth taking on, Clarke perks up.

“Go on,” she prompts her best friend with a little kick under the table.

“A dildo,” announces Octavia, as if it is the obvious answer. She looks at Clarke expectantly, as if awaiting a round of applause, or at least for Clarke to proclaim that all of her problems have been solved with those two short words.

Clarke deflates in an instant and says firmly, “No.”

“A butt plug?”

“No.”

“A dildo _and_ a butt plug?”

“ _Octavia_ ,” hisses Clarke, glancing around to the other patrons in the café just to check that nobody is listening into their conversation. “We’re in public!”

“And? Flavoured condoms?”

Wrinkling up her nose, Clarke asks, “And what would we do with those?”

“I’m sure that Lexa will find a use for them,” grins Octavia.

Clarke busies herself with her sandwich, watching as a single sad salad leaf drops to the table from the sloppy filling between bites. She’s not sure what is more pathetic, her attempts at making sandwiches or the current dismal state of her personal life.

“How about underwear?” suggest Octavia.

“No,” Clarke grinds her back teeth together in frustration.

“A dildo?”

“You’ve already suggested that.”

“Must be a good idea then. A pass to the ass?”

“Octavia!” cries Clarke, screwing her whole face up in disgust. “Ew!”

“What?” Octavia shrugs innocently. “Lexa might be really into butt stuff!”

“I hate you,” Clarke declares melodramatically.

“How about…?”

“ _No_ , Octavia,” insists Clarke, holding up a hand in protest.

“No, wait! Hear me out, this is a really good one. How about yourself wearing nothing but a strategically placed bow?”

“Your ideas are all shit,” Clarke says bluntly.

“Just saying,” Octavia points out, unperturbed, “your relationship with Lexa is a sexual one, therefore the present should be something to spice up your sex life.”

“Who says we’re even going to sleep together again?” asks Clarke.

Tilting her head to the side and considering the question, Octavia quickly answers, “You probably will, let’s not lie.”

“What are you, some kind of sex oracle?”

Octavia’s eyes widen at Clarke’s words and she regrets saying them immediately.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am! I should get that patented. Octavia Blake, Sex Oracle. I could have my own TV show! Oh look, speak of the devil!”

Octavia points to something over Clarke’s shoulder and she snaps her neck around suddenly, only to regret it moments later when she makes eye contact with Lexa, a harried expression on her face and a cellophane wrapped sandwich in her hands. Nothing can prevent the groan from leaving her lips when Lexa raises her eyebrows and smiles in acknowledgement, then changes her course to head straight for Clarke’s table.

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa greets her, as if they are two perfectly ordinary friends who make idle smalltalk all the time. “I never asked you, how did the exam go the other day?”

Blatantly ignoring the way that Octavia relaxes back in her seat as if she is settling down to an evening in front of the television, Clarke shrugs, “It was alright.”

“She was quite tired,” Octavia unhelpfully interjects, and Clarke’s only consolation for the blush that burns her cheeks is that Lexa’s turn slightly pink too.

“Is that so?” Lexa manages to ask, as trivially as she would be when discussing the weather. “I’m sure you did well on the exam though, you seemed to have done a lot of preparation for it.”

Clarke merely nods and there’s an uncomfortable lull in the conversation as silence falls over the three of them, Lexa awkwardly hovering next to their table. Clarke reaches for her sandwich just for something to do, taking a large bite and chewing on it with her gaze firmly glued to the sticky surface of the table.

“Clarke was just talking about what she’s going to get you for Christmas,” Octavia blurts out, and Clarke’s momentary relief that the silence has been broken disappears again as soon as she processes the words.

“Octavia,” Clarke protests, muffled by the bits of sandwich still caught in her cheeks, and she sends a sharp kick Octavia’s way beneath the table.

“What?” Octavia says with a shrug.

“You said that you’d already told her that you picked her name.”

“So what have you decided to get me?” asks Lexa, an amused expression on her face.

“Well, um … I _haven’t_ yet,” admits Clarke.

Lexa laughs softly, and then says, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Or you could give me some ideas?” Clarke suggests hopeful, raising an expectant eyebrow at Lexa.

Lexa shakes her head in mock dismay, then pauses for thought before saying, “Well if you really can’t think of anything then I probably wouldn’t complain about receiving chocolate. See you around, Clarke. Octavia.”

Lexa gives them each a curt nod as she bids them goodbye, before she turns with a flick of her hair over her shoulder and strides out of the café.

“Chocolate,” muses Clarke. “Well, it will work as a last resort.”

“Chocolate _body paint_ ,” Octavia’s eyes light up gleefully.

“ _Octavia_.” 

 

* * *

Raven turns out to be a little more helpful, though only marginally.

“I think it’s obvious what you should get her,” she announces matter-of-factly, as the three girls sit on the couch at a sophomore house party, observing Lexa as she chats and laughs with a couple of the other girls on the other side of the room.

“What?” Clarke shifts her attention to Raven and her heart starts fluttering hopefully.

“You know those tiny bottles of alcohol you get on flights?” asks Raven, and Clarke nods. “Well you can get those in little gift sets for not too much money. Seems appropriate as you two only talk to each other when you’re drunk.”

“They don’t _talk_ , Raven,” Octavia snickers from Clarke’s other side.

Clarke considers the suggestion for a few seconds and then gives Raven an appreciative nod.

“That idea isn’t half bad,” she acknowledges, albeit slightly reluctantly, because Raven’s ego certainly doesn’t need any encouragement. She takes a sip from the red plastic cup cradled in her hands and winces at the taste of god only knows what, making a mental note to have a little look online for alcoholic presents for Lexa.

“Well,” Raven smirks, “either that or just get her a dildo.”

Clarke sighs dejectedly as Octavia giggles gleefully beside her.

“I swear, you two are the absolute _worst_.” Downing the rest of her drink, Clarke pushes herself up to her feet and says, “I need something stronger. And some better company.”

And with that, Clarke disappears into the throng of warm bodies, a brilliant plan to get preposterously drunk formulating in the front of her mind. 

 

* * *

In hindsight, the plan to drink an outrageous amount of alcohol was not a brilliant one.

Clarke wishes that she could say that it’s the first time she’s woken up on the floor of her dorm room but it’s becoming a bit of a drunken habit of hers. The scratchy carpet against her cheek as she wakes to a pounding headache and queasy stomach is becoming annoyingly familiar.

Apparently Octavia thinks so too.

“Wow, Clarke, four time in one semester? You must really love that floor.”

Clarke merely grunts as Octavia closes the door behind her and drops her keys onto her desk with a loud clatter, and the noise she makes is echoed from beneath the comforter on Clarke’s bed.

“Oh, good morning Lexa!” chirps Octavia, striding across the room and flinging the drapes that cover the window open, allowing a harsh beam of sunlight to shine through onto the exact bit of floor that Clarke’s head rests upon. The groan that Clarke lets out is just an incomprehensible stream of displeased noises, the shooting pains through her temples and right behind her eyes far too intense for her to be able to form actual words.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you two didn’t have sex last night,” Octavia continues, oblivious to Clarke’s discomfort. “I was panicking the whole way here from Lincoln’s at the thought of catching you both naked.”

“You would be so lucky,” Lexa croaks from Clarke’s bed.

Clarke pushes herself up into a seated position and snickers to herself, making eye contact with Lexa, whose hair is rumpled and eyes are smudged black with last night’s mascara. They share an amused smile between them at Octavia’s affronted glare, until the eye contact lasts just a fraction of a second too long to be casual, and they both look away blushing. Octavia doesn’t miss this and pounces on it straight away.

“Seriously guys?” she snorts. “You’ve seen each other cum and yet you can barely look at each other?”

Clarke’s cheeks redden and she falls back against the rough carpeted floor again.

“Shut up, Octavia. Lexa, please feel free to throw things at her. I do it all the time and it doesn’t stop her from being a pain in the ass but it’s still fun to inflict harm on her.”

Lexa replies drily, “I think I’ll pass,” and Clarke can almost hear the smirk in her voice.

“Thank you, Lexa,” says Octavia. “I was about to kick you out but I’ve changed my mind. Clarke, get out. I’ve found myself a new roommate.”

“Bore off, Octavia.

Octavia pokes her tongue out as she crosses the room, stepping over Clarke’s body to get to her closet.

Clarke spares a glance over to Lexa, who is now lying on her side in Clarke’s bed, propped up on her elbow with her chin resting on her hand. Not wanting to get caught staring, she quickly turns back to watch as Octavia flings open her closet door and starts to rummage around among the clothes inside, pulling the occasional garment off its hanger and tossing it onto the floor behind her.

Clarke uses the silence in the room, the first such moment since she was so rudely awoken by Octavia crashing into the dorm room, to try and recall the events of the previous night. Going to the house party with Raven and Octavia, the card games, the overly aggressive game of beer pong in which she attempted (and failed) to singlehandedly take on three senior lacrosse boys, the shots. (Oh God, the _shots_ …)

And then everything becomes a blur. A Lexa-centric blur, with vague memories of not-so-subtle handholding and flirty gazes and forbidden kisses and even more shots, and then it all goes blank.

With this realisation, Clarke returns her attention to Lexa and says, “I’m really sorry if I did or said anything bad last night. I genuinely don’t even remember leaving the party.”

Lexa laughs aloud and shakes her head.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a jumbled mess in my mind too,” she admits. “You don’t have to worry though, nothing happened. You were perfectly chivalrous, you _insisted_ that I took your bed. And you kept apologising for being so drunk. It was kind of cute.”

As Clarke blushes again, this time with the ghost of a smile crossing her lips, their conversation is interrupted by Octavia making vomiting noises in the corner.

“You two are gross,” she comments.

“Octavia, seriously,” exasperates Clarke. “Can you please shut the fuck up or go away?”

“No,” Octavia protests childishly. “This is _my_ room too.”

Lexa gets up off the bed, still fully dressed in the clothes she wore to last night’s party, and waves a hand in Octvaia’s direction.

“It’s okay, _I’ll_ leave.”

“Lexa, don’t listen to Octavia,” Clarke tries to protest. “She’s an ass.”

Collecting her phone and keys from Clarke’s nightstand, Lexa walks over to where she kicked off her shoes the previous night and says, “It’s fine, Clarke. This isn’t my room, I’m only intruding. Thank you for letting me spend the night.”

Wishing that she could at least remember getting back to her room the previous night, let alone the conversation which led to Lexa sleeping in the bed alone and Clarke taking the floor, Clarke just mumbles, “No problem,” before watching Lexa slip out of the dorm room.

There are just a few sweet seconds of silence before Octavia pipes up, “So, like, you two are getting married next week, right?”

Clarke has said it before and she’ll say it again; she really drew the short straw by getting stuck with Octavia as a roommate. 

 

* * *

Clarke has said it before and she’ll say it again; she really got lucky by getting Octavia as a roommate.

She doesn’t even need to explicitly say anything for Octavia to be able to sense that she’s feeling a little low, and today is one of those days.

“Okay, what’s the matter?”

Octavia shuts the lid of her laptop, which she’s been typing away on for the best part of half an hour as Clarke works in a similar silence on her side of the room, and turns in her seat to look at Clarke.

“Nothing is the matter,” Clarke lies stubbornly, though even as she says it, she can feel the frown tugging her eyebrows down in the centre and the emptiness threatening to consume her from the inside out.

“Clarke, please,” Octavia begs softly. “You can talk to me.”

“Lexa,” says Clarke. She lets out a heavy sigh as Lexa’s face swims to the front of her mind, steely eyes and sharp cheekbones and impassive expression. “She’s so hard to read. One day she’s holding my hand and sleeping in my bed and … and calling me _cute_ , and then she just stops speaking to me for five days in a row even when we’re the only two people in the laundry room and…”

“You like her,” Octavia interrupts conclusively. Despite not agreeing verbally with Octavia, the silence that follows pretty much gives Clarke’s answer. Octavia presses on, “Tell her.”

Clarke shakes her head.

“Why not?” demands Octavia. “If you like Lexa then tell her.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” grumbles Clarke.

“Easy for _me_ to say?” snorts Octavia. “Me, who has a boyfriend because I told him that I like him and he told me that he likes me too.”

“But Lexa doesn’t feel that way,” pouts Clarke. “She won’t say it back.”

“She held your hand, Clarke,” Octavia reminds her. “She called you _cute_.”

Clarke sighs at the memory, partly in bliss at the memory of the sheer honesty on Lexa’s face as she uttered those words and partly in wistful longing at the thought of Lexa calling her cute again, and more.

“She’s only interested in me for the sex,” Clarke reasons.

“And if the only thing you offer her is sex then it’s all she’ll ever be interested in,” Octavia counters quickly, and Clarke glances away so as to avoid having to acknowledge that her roommate does have a very good point. “It’s Christmas, Clarke. If she tells you no then at least you don’t have to see her for four weeks.”

Clarke considers the suggestion, but even the hopefulness that Lexa might reciprocate these feelings is being shrouded in the immense fear that she won’t.

“I don’t know, O…”

Octavia turns back to her desk and flips the lid of her laptop back up again, the screen bursting into life once more.

“Fine,” she says, her back facing Clarke. “Either tell her or don’t. But if you don’t tell her and continue to mope around then I’ll do it for you.”

It is with the threat of Lexa finding out through Octavia that Clarke has feelings of more than just lust for her that sets a plan in motion in Clarke’s mind. The question is whether she’ll be brave enough to carry it out…

 

* * *

“So did you get Lexa a present in the end?” Raven asks, bounding over to Clarke as she enters the communal room on their floor of the dorm block, where several familiar faces from their corridor are already beginning to gather for the gift exchange.

Clarke waves her neatly wrapped present aloft, shooting Raven a satisfied grin. Raven, however, merely squints at the gift, small and almost paper thin, and then frowns at Clarke.

“You totally chickened out of getting an actual present and got her a gift voucher didn’t you?” Raven raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Clarke. “That’s lame, Griffin.”

Clarke opens her mouth to protest but is caught off-guard by the familiar flash of brown curls in her peripheral vision, and she turns to watch as Lexa enters the room clutching her own gift, eyes wide and innocent and she looks around the room.

“Wish me luck,” Clarke mutters, and then she strides over to the room’s newest arrival, trying to look way more confident than the heart pounding in her chest makes her feel.

Lexa must sense her coming, because she turns when Clarke is still a few feet away and greets her with a friendly, yet still slightly distant smile.

“Hello, Clarke.”

“Merry Christmas, Lexa,” says Clarke. She glances down at the gift in her hand, then offers it out to the other girl. “This is for you.”

“Thank you,” Lexa accepts the gift with a smile, then continues, “I know that you kept saying that you didn’t know what to get me but part of me did wonder if it was actually one of your friends who picked my name and that you were asking on their behalf.”

Clarke laughs nervously and says, “Nope, definitely me that picked your name. Though I really didn’t know what to get you so if it’s not okay then maybe you could pretend that it’s from Octavia and not from me?”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Lexa insists.

“Yeah, maybe,” Clarke shrugs. “Well I’m going to … uh, go back to Raven. I’ll see you later.”

Clarke pretty much sprints back across the room to Raven, who judging by the amused expression on her face has been watching the entire exchange from a distance.

“Oh God,” groans Clarke, raising a hand to her forehead and trying to ignore the incessant pounding of her heart against her ribcage. “Kill me now. I need something strong to drink.”

“What’s up?” asks Raven, resting a concerned hand on Clarke’s arm.

Clarke makes the mistake of glancing over her shoulder to Lexa, who has already neatly removed the wrapping paper from Clarke’s gift to her.

“Oh fuck, she’s opening it here,” whines Clarke.

“Clarke, what did you give her?”

Clarke looks up and meets the fretful gaze in Raven’s dark eyes.

“Nothing,” answers Clarke, swallowing thickly. “Just a card asking her if she wants to go out for dinner with me. _Fuck_ , why did I think that was a good idea?”

Raven’s eyes widen suddenly in shock.

“You asked her out?” gasps Raven. “Wow, Griffin! Good on you!”

“I guess I did,” nods Clarke, taking a few seconds to let it sink in. She feels momentarily proud of herself, even if she did chicken out of doing it properly by simply writing the request down and wrapping it up, but then remembers that Lexa is currently processing that request and she feels an anxious wave of nausea begin to rise up within her. “Oh God, I was serious about needing a drink. I’ve got some vodka in my room, I’ll be back in a…

Clarke is interrupted by Raven tugging frantically on the sleeve of Clarke’s sweatshirt.

“Clarke, she’s coming over…”

Her heart even more erratic than before, if that is possible, Clarke turns around and feels her breath catch in her throat at the sight of Lexa sauntering over. The brunette’s face is as deadpan as ever, not giving away what she’s feeling, but Clarke prepares herself for the worst.

 _She’s going to say no_ , Clarke thinks. _She’s going to say no and then we’ll never talk again other than maybe the occasional hello when we pass on the stairs._

“Lexa, I…”

Clarke doesn’t get the chance to give the apology that she has ready on the tip of her tongue, because she suddenly finds her mouth occupied with something else. It takes her a second to process what is happening, but when she does and realises that Lexa has cut her off with the press of her own lips to Clarke’s, her brain immediately short circuits. Clarke reaches out for something to steady herself with and her fingers curl into the soft material of Lexa’s sweater, and the gesture must be the right one because Lexa smiles against Clarke’s mouth and then pulls away to rest her forehead against Clarke’s.

“Yes,” she whispers so softly that Clarke can barely hear her, reaching out with one of her hands to slide her fingers in between the fingers on Clarke’s free hand. “Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

Clarke can’t help the grin that spreads across her face, though it only sits there for a second before she leans in again to kiss Lexa, not caring that almost everybody on their corridor could be watching them right now.

“Jeez guys, get a room.”

Clarke pulls back at the sound of Octavia’s voice, moving to stand a few inches to Lexa’s right.

“What have I missed?” Octavia asks, her bright eyes flickering between the two girls still holding hands.

Beaming at her best friend, Clarke says, “I told her, O.”

Octavia’s eyes widen and her jaw drops slightly, and she glances across at Raven as if to check that what she’s hearing is true. When Raven gives a single nod of her head, Octavia turns back to Clarke with a grin that could mirror Clarke’s own.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Griff,” she tells Clarke earnestly. Her attention slides over to Lexa, who she then asks, “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Unperturbed, Lexa answers drily, “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Yes you will, starting with _this_. Merry Christmas, Clarke!” Octavia says, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she holds out a small rectangular gift, decorated with a large old bow on the top and a label that read _to Clarke, love Secret Santa_ in Octavia’s familiar cursive.

Gaping across at her best friend, Clarke accepts the gift tentatively, not entirely believing that it is for her, and says, “But what about Myles? The inflatable sex doll?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you that I picked your name, was I? What kind of idiot would do that?”

Octavia smirks at her and Clarke hears Lexa laugh softly beside her, the hand still entwined with Clarke’s giving a little squeeze.

“Shut up,” pouts Clarke. “I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret from me!”

“Neither can I,” agrees Octavia. “Raven guessed about two minutes after I drew your name, I swear she has psychic powers! I was certain that you’d figure it out eventually. Anyway, are you going to open it?”

Clarke drops Lexa’s hand and tears at one end of the wrapping, peeling back the red paper and frowning at the non-descript box that does nothing to give away its contents.

“You haven’t given _me_ the sex doll, have you?”

Octavia laughs and then gestures to the gift, “Keep going.”

Clarke rips off the rest of the wrapping paper and lifts the lid of the box, still confused when she sees that the actual present is hidden amongst brightly coloured tissue paper. Pushing the paper aside, Clarke reaches further into the box and pulls out a smaller box, plain black on the outside. Despite the lack of writing on the outside of this box, however, it is long and thin, and Clarke reckons she has a pretty good idea what it contains.

“Octavia,” sighs Clarke, looking up from her present to give her best friend an unamused stare. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

Her eyes flickering between Clarke and Lexa and looking as though she might almost explode with excitement, Octavia announces, “It’s for _both_ of you.”

Still blissfully oblivious, Lexa peers at the small black box with a frown and parrots back, “For both of us?”

“Go on, Clarke,” Octavia nudges her, the grin on her face so wide that it spreads from one cheek to the other. “Open it.”

With an unimpressed shake of her head, Clarke passes the larger box filled with tissue paper back to Octavia and opens the flap at one end of the small black box. Once open, she tips the box upside and lets its contents fall out onto her outstretched hand. It’s simultaneously exactly what she knew it would be and nothing like she expected, six inches of silicone in an unrealistically garish crimson red colour.

“Is that…?” Lexa starts, her eyes wide in surprise.

“A dildo!” Octavia nods delightedly.

Clarke wraps her hand around the flared base of the bright red dildo and uses it to lightly hit Octavia around the head.

“Ow, Clarke! Save that for Lexa … ouch, no I said _stop_ hitting me with the dildo … Clarke, _stop_!”

Deciding that she’s inflicted enough harm on Octavia, Clarke retracts and chooses that moment to look across at Lexa, who has been watching the entire exchange with a look of mild amusement on her face. Meeting Clarke’s questioning gaze, Lexa shrugs and then says, “By all means, continue hitting Octavia with the dildo.”

Clarke laughs and reaches for Lexa’s hand again, leaning into the brunette and resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder.

“I like you,” she mumbles contentedly.

Lexa’s fingers squeeze Clarke’s and a pair of warm lips press a lingering kiss to Clarke’s forehead.

“I like you too.”

 

* * *

Clarke isn’t even that surprised when she reads the name, out of twenty four possible names, on the little slip of paper between her fingers, but three weeks later, with Lexa’s fingers threaded through her own and the promise of a future together that Clarke can be excited about, she realises that she really wouldn’t rather have picked anyone else’s name at all.


End file.
